


Freshly Cooked Flesh

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Gore, M/M, all explicitly within the context of fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is in a relatively healthy, normal relationship with Sherlock, but he fantasizes about killing & eating his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freshly Cooked Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for this prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9100.html?thread=41856396#t41856396

_Sherlock was trussed with hemp rope, secured by his ankles and wrists to the long wooden pole to hang above the fire pit. Every inch of his naked skin glistened with cooking oil, shining all the more lusciously as the embers beneath him burned brightly. John watched tears well in the corners of Sherlock's eyes, looking more afraid and vulnerable than John had ever seen him before._

_Far more appealing than those silent visual pleas were the lanky angles of Sherlock's body. Much of it was too scrawny to be a real meal, but those lean, perfectly-shaped thighs would be positively delicious. John's mouth watered as he anticipated biting in, the tantalizingly forbidden taste of his lover's freshly cooked flesh, rich and bloody rare._

_The apple shoved in Sherlock's mouth could no longer properly stifle the throaty sounds of pain as the heat from the fire began to sear his back. John raised the knife and drew it swiftly across Sherlock's neck, instantly ending his misery. Blood spilled out of the wound, sizzling as it hit the coals. John licked the knife clean, savoring every salty, coppery drop._

With a groan not quite muffled by the pillow, John shuddered and spilled himself, warm, slick semen coating his hand. He panted, swallowing back the excess spit pooling in his mouth as the blissful intensity of his orgasm faded as quickly as it had come. Within moments, it was replaced by a rather sick feeling coiling in his stomach. No matter how many times he'd fantasized about this, the disgust that followed each climax was inevitable.

He'd clean himself up and go downstairs where Sherlock would know immediately what he'd just done. That was unavoidable. When Sherlock pointed out, yet again, that there was no point in John masturbating when Sherlock was ready and willing, he'd yet again point out that Sherlock was notoriously moody about sex and John didn't like to pressure him. And, as every time before, John dreaded that this would be the time when Sherlock figured out John's real reason for wanking off on his own. No matter how supportive Sherlock ever claimed or wanted to be, there were some things John just couldn't share.


End file.
